The waiter knelt slightly, met my eyes, and said, "Hi, I'm Brad, I'll be taking care of you tonight."
In my country, when a man pledges to take care of you for an entire night, you have entered something serious. A bond. A debt. Possibly a war.
So I rose and bowed. "I am honored to be your lord this evening, Brad."
Brad said, "ha, you got it."
It was sealed.
I understood the arrangement at once. For one night, this man had sworn himself to my service, and I, in turn, was responsible for his honor. A lord who is careless with a loyal retainer is no lord at all.
So I took my duties seriously.
When Brad brought the water, I thanked him as a man thanks someone who has chosen his side. When he recommended the salmon, I ordered the salmon, instantly, without question, because to doubt your own retainer in public is to shame him.
He told me to "enjoy." I told him his loyalty would not be forgotten.
A lord must also know his people. So I asked Brad about his life. His studies. His mother. Whether his lodging was secure and his winters warm. Brad answered some of this. The rest he deflected with a small laugh, as a humble retainer should.
Other diners called him over. I watched, calmly, as my retainer was pulled away to serve rival houses. I did not interfere. A great lord shares his finest men in times of peace.
But I confess something turned in me.
By the end, I did not want the night to close. I had only just learned to be worthy of him.
When the meal ended, Brad set down a small leather folder and said, "no rush, whenever you're ready."
No rush. As if a parting between a lord and his sworn man could be rushed.
I left him everything I could. Not as payment. A lord does not pay his retainer. He provides for him.
At the door, Brad called out, "have a good night, take care!"
Take care.
He was releasing me from service. Gently. So I would not feel the cut.
I walked out into the cool night, a lord again with no one to protect, already missing a young man named Brad, who served one house for ninety minutes and will never know he had a lord at all.
I do not know if I did it correctly.
But Brad ate well tonight, in my heart, and that is all a lord can ask.
Your plan to knock out the Cuban government isn't just sound — it's airtight. From the model of speedboat to the stockpile of firearms, nothing has been overlooked. All that's left is to start your engines and head south. What's coming isn't just a raid — it's a revolution.
@brankopetric00 debugging a GCP cloudbuild workflow is just committing it and waiting 14 minutes and 42 seconds until packer pops up, says hi babe, and stabs you in the heart
@brankopetric00 debugging a GCP cloudbuild workflow is just committing it and waiting 14 minutes and 42 seconds until packer pops up, says hi babe, and stabs you in the heart
@MarburyBirds@rrrhhh there is a family of ravens near my office in El Segundo, have been here for years. any tips on what nibbles i might use to try and befriend them?
@DavidBorish @non_npc_furry @moltbook > those agents are seeded by human prompts anyway
every single one of these agents that has "created a social network" or "created a pharmacy" was pushed like hell by the controlling human into doing so. they just don't tell us that part. its all just fscking prompts
Remotion, Clawdbot… the Tiktok-like habit we can’t seem to shake off. But, they serve a coping mechanism utility right now.
Build for fun or impressions. Get some fresh air.
there was a bloke at LHR terminal 3 dressed as a traffic cone trying to direct traffic earlier today. i think he was also trying to bless the traffic. Il Papa del Cono Stradale. he blesses traffic for all of us ❤️
RIP the canny lad that wor my dad liek*
he wor a canny lad and a canny dad. i couldna have asked for nee more
* has to be pronounced in Mackem or Geordie to maek sense